


that's all it is, man

by scarlett_starlett



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dad Bod Peter Parker is my only Peter Parker, Divorce, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Moving On, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Older Characters, Peter Parker & Wade Wilson are Best Friends, Spider-Man: Into the Spiderverse Spoilers, You know what this is? GROWTH
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-24 05:54:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17095103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarlett_starlett/pseuds/scarlett_starlett
Summary: "It’s just a leap of faith. That's all it is."(or: Peter B. Parker returns to his New York and actually believes that he won’t mess it up again; not this time, not with him.)WARNING: Spoilers for the Spider-Man: Into the Spiderverse movie. Read with caution.





	that's all it is, man

**Author's Note:**

> I saw the Into the Spiderverse movie on opening day and immediately went home to write this and it's been sitting in my documents this entire time, simmering. I don't think it's all that good, but it is complete, so have some complete garbage, folks!

“...and so, I get back to my universe, start working out a little, cutting down my pizza orders, y’know, standard stuff, I got a coffee table, some plates, aaand finally decide to give it one last shot with my ex-wife. For old times' sake,” Peter fake-laughed, the white lens of his mask twitching a little. The bartender darted his eyes to the bouquet of flowers clenched between his two fists then back up again. “All because some kid told me it’ll be alright and I won’t mess it up this time!”

“And... did you?”

“Yep.”

“Ah,” the bartender cleared his throat, eying the crushed flowers in Peter’s grip like they would burst into a pile of ash on his table. “Maybe the kid isn’t wrong. Maybe you made your move too soon? How long ago was it that you, ah, got back from your little acid trip—I mean, your travel trip?”

“Three days.”

“Right. You, ah, been on any other...trips since then?”

“I’m not on drugs, if your extremely obvious implication that I had a hallucinatory episode is any indication,” Peter blew out a breath, slumping over his seat. His lens eyes closed pathetically. “I wish I were on drugs! That would make things so much easier—don't tell D.A.R.E. I said that, I’m still a board member. But rehab sounds wonderful. Imagine, a whole place where people just listen to you talk about your deep-set commitment issues and damaging, emotional trauma without any judgement!”

“I think you mean therapy and, yes, it is a great place to dump decades-worth of resentment, fear, and abandonment issues! Just don’t go that one place in Coney Island, the doctors there nearly drove me off the wall when they wouldn’t shut up about the Bachelor finalists. In their defense, though, they were trying to distract me from my suicidal ideations,” a cheery voice came from behind him.

Peter dropped his head hard on the table, groaning loudly. “Not you. Please let it be anyone but you right now.”

“Um, rude, I’m your best friend. Is that any way to treat your best friend?” Deadpool cackled as he took a seat beside a brooding Spider-Man. “Where’ve you been, anyway? You’re gone for, like, three days and Town Square nearly gets leveled by a jacked-out Juggernaut, and Green Goblin has been going on 102.7 to rant about how he’ll definitely kill you this time for sure.”

Peter lifted his head. “Huh. Is that what all the construction there is for?”

“Yeah.”

“Thought they were finally fixing the sidewalks,” Peter grumbled, and Deadpool sniggered then noticed the bouquet of flowers in his friends' hand.

“What’s with the flowers? Oh, I know! You tryna’ woo some hot piece of ass, Spidey, you dog, you!”

“NO! Don’t say it like that. I mean, maybe, not really, no? I don’t know. I knew this was a bad idea. I don’t know why I thought it was a good idea to try it out anyway. Our issues are more than me not wanting to have kids and having kids would definitely not solve anything between us,” Peter sighed, a little softer now, resting his chin on the countertop. It smelled heavily of Clorox wipes. He wrinkled his nose to stop himself from sneezing.

“Is this about your wife-that-isn’t-your-wife-anymore-that-I’m-supposed-to-have-no-idea-about-because-I'm-not-supposed-to-know-your-secret-identity?”

“I can hear every single hyphen in that sentence. Please, do yourself a favor and just use her name.”

“Which is?”

Peter sighed. “MJ.”

“Alright, progress. I like it. Hey, get me two Jack and Coke’s, would’ja?” Deadpool waved a twenty at the bartender so he would go away and turned back to Peter, who now had his face buried in his arms. “I take it your little two-day vacation didn’t help with your martial problems?”

“It did, just not in the way I thought it would. Wouldn’t call it a vacation, though,” Peter added, lifting his head up from his arms to turn to his best friend as he began to re-tell his weird jump into the multiverse. To start, Deadpool wasn’t wrong: they were friends, very close friends, _bros_ , practically best friends. Their bromance was legendary among the Avengers and, by that, he means that Tony once made a very loud and rude comment about not being _that_ equal opportunity and Peter had never gone to another Avengers party again.

Tony still sent him invites.

Deadpool and he liked to let the pigeons shred them up during patrol.

But, Deadpool and he go way back to when he was a fresh-faced twenty-year-old and he had his shit together. Sort of. This crisis and eventual crumbling of everything he ever treasured was a long-time coming and his two-day stint in a different universe only gave him more time to think about it and come to terms with it. Yet Deadpool had always been a consistent presence in his life, maybe because they were both fuck ups in their own ways and loved to commiserate about it over buckets of ice-cream and movie binges. Plus, Peter trusted Deadpool. He was very aware that the immortal mutant knew his identity—had known for a very long time—but they liked to pretend he didn’t in public just to wave off public suspicion. In private, Tony had a reason to look at them suspiciously, considering if Peter wasn’t with MJ, he was most likely with Deadpool causing mayhem (or, in Peter’s opinion, _preventing_ anymore mayhem from happening).

But Deadpool was the one who kicked down his bathroom door when he had another pity party, fully-suited, in his shower and challenged him to a Mario Party session that the mutant lost. Terribly.

It did cheer him up, though.

“Ooh!! Did you meet Gwenpool?!”

“Gwen...pool? Wait, you mean there’s _more_ Deadpool’s?!”

“Psh, yeah,” Deadpool snorted. “It’s called the _multiverse_ , not the Spider-exclusive-verse.”

“You could’ve just said Spiderverse.”

“I could have but I didn’t because I didn’t think of that, so there!” Deadpool childishly stuck his tongue out and downed the drink. Then he asked for a new one. The bartender eyed them both but left them to their privacy.

Peter just swirled the ice in his drink, but a smile crooked his unshaven face. “So, there’s a universe where Gwen is Deadpool?”

“Yep! Sort of. Not really. She’s actually a real person stuck in a comic book because we’re comic book characters in the real world.”

“Pool, don’t do this to me right now, I’m too fragile,” Peter groaned, reaching under his mask to rub his eyes out. He felt Deadpool’s big hand pat his back for a moment, then rub up and down comfortingly as Peter dumped the bouquet of flowers on the bar table and figured that was ten bucks ill spent. Unsurprisingly. His horrendous budgeting was yet another reason MJ couldn’t stand him at home; that, and the fact that he left piles of dirty clothes on his side of the bed all the time, but that was more because he never had time to do laundry with his multiple jobs and his gig as Spider-Man, so it was easier to let it stack on the floor, where he could shove it all in a laundry bag at the end of the month and take it to the coin-laundry two blocks down to wash it all in one go.

MJ didn’t quite see it that way.

“You wanna’ get some ice-cream from Target, bud?”

“God, yes,” Peter whimpered and Deadpool chuckled, grabbing the new drink the bartender had brought and downing it again. He chugged down Peter’s untouched drink, too, when the man stood and belched a little after he was done. “3.7/10, I’ve seen you do better after drinking my Coke backwash,” Peter commented cheekily, and Deadpool elbowed him as they both exited the bar. At the sudden shine of sunlight, Peter was reminded yet again that it was  2pm on a Tuesday that he decided to go to he and Deadpool’s favorite hole-in-the-wall tavern to dump his current emotional trauma on an unsuspecting bartender.

His usual M.O.

Deadpool talked rapidly as they made their way over to the Target nearby while Peter absently listened, more letting himself sink into the easy familiarity of Deadpool’s raspy voice. It wasn’t unpleasant—or, rather, it wasn’t an unpleasant sound now. Peter hadn’t liked Deadpool when he first met him: he admitted it, they talked about it, they’d moved past that. He had been too loud, too reckless, too unpredictable; working with the Merc had been a nightmare when he was younger since he answered to no one and no amount of clever pop culture jokes would cover up the fact that Deadpool resorted to murder when the situation got tough, in Peter’s opinion—but he’d leveled out over the years and became someone Peter occasionally worked with when they needed extra hands on the job.

He was mostly someone Peter hung out with out-of-costume when things were tense at home or when Peter was just tired.

He was always tired now, though.

Peter admitted that he spent more time with the Merc nowadays, and he tried not to think about how bad off he would be if he had no one.

“Here you go, bud,” Deadpool popped open a container of strawberry-vanilla ice-cream the instant they were out of the check-out line, grabbing a plastic spoon from the party bag he’d also bought, and handed it over to Peter, who immediately shoved a whole spoonful of ice-cream in his mouth and hissed when the cold made his teeth hurt.

“Blargh,” Peter scowled as he gingery touched his cheek. “M’teeth hurt. M’gettin’ old.”

“Same.”

“Shut up, aren’t you, like, immortal or something? You don’t age!”

“I do, just slower,” Deadpool corrected with a shrug. “A lot slower. Technically I’m pushing 250.”

“Years?!”

“Yep.”

“...Well, you don’t look a day over thirty-seven,” Peter quipped, laughing when Deadpool struck a pose and batted his eyes at him. He laughed harder when Deadpool actually took out a hanky and pretended to hide behind it shyly.

“Oh, Mr. Parker! Don’t flatter a lady like that, she might get the wrong idea!”

“Yeah, yeah, eat your ice-cream, Lady,” Peter chuckled and ate another spoonful as Deadpool went into a little background on how time worked, which was greatly appreciated because Deadpool being 250 years old in their time made no sense to Peter considering he knew Deadpool’s origin story pretty fucking well and those numbers did not match up whatsoever. He also looked amazing for 250, what the hell: Peter sunk into a depression and gained twenty pounds immediately. How did he keep his waist so trim and... _attractive?_ Peter waved those thoughts away yet again to ask: “So, point of this story is that Cable fucked you over in the year 2099?”

“Yes, why do you always have to clarify like that? It makes me feel like I talk too much!” Deadpool whined, bumping his shoulder. Peter bumped back.

“You do talk too much.”

“Flatterer,” Deadpool huffed, then added: “But you hit the nail on the head. Not the type of nailing I wanted, though.”

“Too bad, it’s the only type you’re getting for a while,” Peter rolled his eyes, his smile growing.

“BUT! Let it be clear that it doesn’t matter to me how old I technically came back as, since I haven’t changed physically—I’m still ugly as balls and crazy to boot. Adding a couple hundred years to that doesn’t actually do anything except prevent you from creating a Grindr account since that age doesn’t exist in the system.”

“You have a Grindr?”

“Don’t you?” Deadpool accused and Peter blinked, frowning.

“No?”

“Aw, twix. Now I feel dirty for seriously thinking about getting one.”

“Right. Except you can't, because 250 isn’t a viable age in the system,” Peter rolled his eyes again and just took another bite out of his ice-cream. “Whatever. To each their own. I just wanted to tell you that I’ve seen worse and your face ain’t it. Proven, I’ve travelled through the multiverse now,” he added with a cheeky grin.

“Liar.”

“No, I’m serious! Cross my heart! You ever seen MODOK without his little weird mechanical suit? Horrifying.”

“Fuck, you’re right.”

“Told you.”

“Cable is still in the year 2099 though. I guess I can harass him to fix my age if I wanted to. That or he’s dead again and I’m a widow now so it doesn’t matter. Either works for me. I don’t really care—do you care, is that a thing you care about? I can fix it if you care about that.”

“What? Nah, you don’t look old at all. If anything, it levels the playing field a bit what with your immortality and all. You might as well just be a widow—wait a second,” Peter slowly turned his head to Deadpool, who poked his ice-cream a bit and grinned when the spoon sunk in perfectly before scooping some out. This was something that had never come up before, ever, in their friendship and Peter had the sudden, _burning_ , need to know everything about it _immediately right now_. “Widow? Um, like...marriage-widow?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“You and Cable...I mean, you were both...married? I thought you two were just—uh, there’s no way to say this without coming off as extremely white and we all know how you feel about that.”

Deadpool giggled. “The straights and whites are at it again!” before his demeanor darkened and he stuck his spoon in his ice-cream, taking a deep breath and nodding jerkily. “Ten years,” he revealed, and Peter’s eyes widened. Peter’s own marriage had lasted a little under that and it had been messy. But, he guessed, not as messy as a time-traveler who could drop you off in any time-line or dimensional plane and pretend otherwise. “It was a fuckfest, though, the whole of it. But Nate and I understood each other despite it. We worked really well together. Sometimes he felt like my other half, like he was the only one who’d ever really get me. But most times I just wanted to punch his smug fucking face and unload my gun into his brain a few times.”

“Lotsa’ passion, but they don’t fit into anything else relating to your actual real life, right? Same, man.”

“Yeah,” Deadpool grimly said. “The worst of it was I always let him take the lead on everything—for _years_ ,” he laughed, but Peter felt that hurt. It felt like his. “Just coz he was _older_ , more _experienced_ , and _morally_ _better_ than me. I didn’t know best—Cable did. I never knew anything...Cable always did.”

“But he didn’t,” Peter stated, clutching his ice-cream container in both his hands. He didn’t know what to do to help ease that pain; Peter was still trying to figure out how to heal from his. “You can’t be in a relationship so imbalanced, it...doesn’t work,” he admitted, looking down as he thought about just how unbalanced his relationship with MJ had been. She had put up with so much for no reason; there was no reason for a civilian to put up with the amount of crap the world threw at Spider-Man. Peter made his choices. But Peter was also selfish and MJ had reached her breaking point. It was good that he let her go; or more like it was a long time coming, and that had been something he did come to terms with during his two-day stint in Miles’ universe. “You’re not an idiot, Pool. I’m sorry you had to feel that way for so long.”

“Nah, it’s all in the water now,” Deadpool waved off, reaching for his spoon again. “We talked about it like adults after our last fight, decided it was best if we just broke it off and let it die for good this time. No interdimensional booty calls, no ‘I’m sorry for being an asshole’ texts. Just radio silence. Nate and I haven’t talked in about five or so years so I wanna’ say we’ve moved past it all by now. Dunno’ what he’s up to, but it’s probably saving multiple timelines from converging into themselves and disappearing from the space-time continuum.”

“AKA _booo_ -ring. You’re better off just hanging around with me, anyway. I have a PS4,” Peter play-yawned and Deadpool’s grin came back, his shoulders perking up as they rounded a corner and continued their leisure walk. “Wait, if you become a widow, does that mean you haven’t divorced Cable yet then?”

“Yep. Bastard refused to sign the papers nullifying our marriage certificate and I haven’t seen him in a while so I’m stuck with it. As usual. Fucking prick, he always hated doing paperwork—like I was any better! He never blew up shit, I always came out with _at_ _least_ one detonated grenade and a potential lawsuit,” Deadpool grumbled. Peter took a breath at that and shrugged resignedly. He was right. “All he has to do is sign one line and we could be done with it but he’s ‘busy’ and ‘doesn’t have time for that nonsense.’ Like, honestly, I should have known this was gonna’ be messy when he insisted we get married because he fed me some bullshit about ‘ _needing to keep certain traditions that disappear in the future alive._ ’”

Peter snorted out a laugh at that. “Yeah, that sounds like a line and you totally fell for it! So much for being ahead of the game, Pool.”

“Shut up, I was in love. You don’t get to talk, I know for a fact that you’ve done some _dumb_ shit for love.”

“Fair point,” Peter curled his lips up in a smile. “So, all that talk about strippers and titties...?”

“Nah, I’m still game. I’m pansexual, I don’t care where I stick my dick or whose anything gets stuck in me, I’m game if I like them,” Deadpool shrugged.

“Never thought of it that way but I will now, forever, so thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Deadpool beamed. “So?”

“So what?”

“ _Y’know_....”

“I know what?”

“Wow, you’re really going to tell me you’re actually straighter than the 6-train? I’m super disappointed. You’re so boring, this is why I’m your only real friend.”

“Do you ever just shut up sometimes?”

“Absolutely not, I’m not an animal.”

Peter rolled his eyes as he stuck another spoonful of ice-cream in his mouth, side-eying Deadpool, who leaned in real close in a mock-leer. Peter elbowed his gut when his nose bumped his cheek and sighed out, “Fine, quit acting like a creep, I’ll talk. No, I’m not the patron saint for all the straight white men out there in New York—no matter what the media likes to say. I did it once with a dude, okay? It was at that annual Holiday Party Tony throws and Thor brought his Asgardian mead and Johnny was being an idiot and insisting we play 7 minutes in heaven—!”

“YOU FUCKED THE HUMAN TORCH!”

“SHHH!” Peter hissed, grabbing Deadpool by the collar and hissing, “Only _once_. I was twenty-one. It was just...an impulse thing.”

“Well...did you like it?”

“Wha-what?”

“It’s just a question, Pete, answer it.”

“I....well...yeah, I guess. Yeah, I did!” Peter rubbed the back of his head. “It was—good, I mean, really good until he opened his mouth and asked if eating a partner—like actual spiders do, _female_ _spiders_ , by the way—was strictly about cannibalism or if it could involve something else. I had never been less attracted to someone in that very moment, but I pulled through, so kudos to me. That was the last time I ever willingly touched Johnny, though," Peter shrugged. Johnny had been so drunk and he had been extra drunk but Johnny’s word vomit could beat out his any day.

“Hm. Interesting implications. So rimming is a no-no?"

“I’m not answering that.”

“We’ll mark that one down as ‘curious, but unsure.’”

“No, we’re not. We’re marking all this down as ‘never speaking of it again.’”

Deadpool ignored him. Per usual. “One great thing did come from this—I always imagined you topping. I’m _so_ happy I was right! This is the best day ever!”

A passerby did a double-take at that and Peter ducked his head, face hot.

“Oh, my God! Why are you so _loud_?” 

“But you still identify as straight?”

“I never said I identified as anything! I said we’d never talk about this again!”

“So, not straight?”

“No...no, I don’t think so,” Peter swallowed. His ice-cream was melting. He felt Deadpool pat his upper back again with those big hands of his and this time he imagined them on his knees, running up to his thighs, and he had to take another spoonful of his melty ice-cream to cool himself off. “I mean, I don’t have much experience with...men...mostly because I’d asked out MJ right after that and we just...we were on/off most of the time, and then we got married and we had different problems, but I never cheated on her or saw other people, even during our breaks. It was never an option for me so I just never took that any further. Now I’m 34, MJ definitely doesn’t want anything to do with me, and I had at least 6 people in another universe mention that I’m fat so my chances in the dating pool have taken at least a 75% plunge.”

“Aw, I wouldn’t say that!” Deadpool encouraged, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly. He was standing as close as he always did when he was with Peter: Peter was just more aware of it now, suddenly. Well, he’d always been aware of it and Peter was a tactile guy so he liked it, but now he was aware that Deadpool once had a husband, was much older than him, shared the same sense of humor and memes, liked cold pizza like him, made him laugh even when he felt like utter shit, was about as single as he could be without being legally divorced, and that he imagined Peter as a top and it _made his entire day_. “Your dad bod is totally hot. I’d let you smash.”

And he would let him tap that Canadian ass, Peter thought with the calm sort of shock that came from too much information being dumped on a single person at one time.

So, of course he focused on the least important thing from everything Deadpool said:

“...Did you just say I have a dad bod?”

“Is that not what it is?” Deadpool challenged.

“NO! I don’t have a dad bod! In order to have a dad bod, you gotta’ have kids and guess what I don’t have? _Kids!_ ”

“Lies and slander! You can have a dad bod without having any kids!”

“Prove it!”

Deadpool threw his ice-cream in the trashcan on his left to get on his knee and spread his arms out to his... _gut_. Peter felt his face flush and he backed up a bit, crossing his arms over his chest protectively.

“That doesn’t prove anything!”

“Yes, it fucking does—okay, y'know what—excuse me, ma’am? Ma’am! I have a quick question!”

“Don’t you dare, you bast—hiiii,” Peter awkwardly waved at the lady who watched them both with a slight frown, pulling out a headphone as Deadpool motioned her closer to Peter.

“Does he or does he not...have a dad bod?” Deadpool asked her seriously, specifically focusing on his stomach. “It’s okay to be brutally honest. Spider-Man can take it—he takes it from J. Jameson every week.”

“Rude and uncalled for,” Peter shot back, but stood straighter so his suit hid his most obvious tummy issues and crossed his arms as she scrutinized him for a second.

“He has a total dad bod. He’s got the shoulders for it, too.”

Peter’s jaw dropped and Deadpool cackled, thanking her profusely and letting her go on her way.

“What’s that sound? Oh, yeah, that’s the sound of me being _right_ ,” Deadpool drawled with a wink, swinging an arm over Peter’s shoulders as he seethed.

“Shut up! That was just one person. Your sample size is too small.”

“I will make a Twitter poll if you keep this up,” Deadpool threatened.

“Ugh, fine! Fine, yes, I have a dad bod! Woo-hoo, hurray for me! That doesn’t mean I’m suddenly attractive again. My bags have bags and I live solely on a diet of pizza and seltzer water. I’m basically in college except I’m old.”

“Why are you so negative?” Deadpool rolled his eyes. “At least you _look_ good. I don’t look good in anything except covered up.”

“That’s not true.”

“This one you aren’t gonna’ win, Spidey,” Deadpool added quietly when it looked like Peter wanted to argue some more. He closed his mouth at the softly spoken words, something in the tone letting his previous irritation drain out of him. “250 years, remember? I think that’s more than enough time to know that you aren’t hot, and the only way you’re gonna’ win someone over is by personality alone and, lemme’ tell ya, happens once in a blue moon, 2/10 would not recommend,” he said grimly and Peter felt terrible, suddenly. Sure, he had stacked on a few pounds, but it was nothing he couldn’t exercise away if he cut back on his pizza intake for real and added more patrol time. He could shave, could catch a few z’s here and there, could get a haircut and put himself out there again with no problem.

Deadpool’s skin was...very scarred.

It did take Peter aback when he first saw him without his mask.

But it’d been years since he’d thought about it. He and Deadpool hung out regularly at Deadpool’s studio and he was always in board shorts and a t-shirt there.

Deadpool also had extremely blue eyes—the kind of blue you saw in the sky on a nice spring day. They were pretty; they sparkled when he was happy, and they darkened when he was up to no good. But they were an aspect of Deadpool that Peter always noticed, even absently.

“You have pretty eyes—they're blue. I always loved that eye color. I always thought it was beautiful. Used to whine about it not being fair that I wasn’t born with blue eyes since my dad had ‘em,” Peter told him, softly. Deadpool looked up at him in surprise. “You’re scarred, yeah, but you’re fit, you’re funny, you’re really thoughtful and you look after your friends. You're also financially stable and, y’know, there are people that look for that kinda’ thing out there,” he chuckled and Deadpool joined in after a few seconds. “I know that looking like you do can be hard, but I wouldn’t put yourself down so much. If you really tried, you’d find someone who could care about you better than that jerk Cable could. You’re a good guy, Wade. You just have more bad luck than my last name does.”

“Would make sense if it were  _my_ last name then.”

Peter’s heart sped up at that, both in panic and a surprising amount of thrill at the idea. He took a deep breath before he got ahead of himself again and looked over at his best friend, who was pulling the bottom of his mask down over his chin. His eyes strayed to the right, to the tiny Mexican restaurant that was just across the street. He’d only ever really thought about what he was about to do a couple of times, usually when things were difficult or when he thought about who else would fit with him after the divorce happened. He never seriously considered it as an option, but he also thought Deadpool was about as straight as a flag pole, but _now_....

“Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t be weird about this.”

“Ooh, I’ll be the judge of that!”

“I mean it,” Peter said, seriously. Deadpool excitedly wiggled in place and it was adorable. Peter shooed that thought, then brought it back. It was okay now. It was fine. He—well, Peter had always been the king of impulse decisions and this was nothing new. Miles was right, just not in the way he initially thought. “You can say no and we can go back to how it is. I won’t hold it against you.”

Deadpool stopped wiggling in place at that and just stared at him.

Peter swallowed. Alright. He was going to say it. He was. He owed it to Miles; it was always a leap of faith, it was trusting his instinct and his instinct right now told him to do this and that it would all be alright. It was what guided him since the bite and today it had guided him to the tavern Deadpool frequented for a reason.

He just had to trust it.

“You remember when we made that pact when we were really drunk with Thor a couple years ago?”

“That if you went one month without your harem of animal-themed villains wreaking havoc in the city, we’d both go vegan?”

“What? No, no, the other one!”

“That if we were 50 and single, we’d get married in order to avoid the sheer loneliness of growing old alone? That, and tax breaks.”

“Yeah. That. What if we lowered the age requirement and held off on the marriage?”

Deadpool squinted, suspicious. “Explain."

“How about maybe, oh, I don’t know...34?” Peter swallowed, waving his hand around like it was no big deal when it clearly was a big deal. “There’s a Mexican restaurant over there that has a really good lunch menu so, uh, do you wanna’ get some lunch? As... not friends?”

“Like best friends?”

“N...ah, not that, either, the age requirement is down to 34 now, remember?” Peter coughed. Deadpool’s eyes suddenly widened as the gears in that idiot's head cranked. God, he was so relatable. Peter felt a little bit like an idiot himself for not thinking about it before. “Like a date?”

Deadpool stared at him and then gasped loudly.

Peter buried his face in his hands to stifle a laugh when Deadpool gasped again, but louder.

“Okay, y’know what, never—!”

“YES! No, no, you can’t take it back—you asked me and I said yes. By law you have to give me a chance now,” Deadpool shrieked, grabbing his wrist and pulling him towards the restaurant with a giant grin.

“By law? What law? I’ve never heard of this law.”

“Just got passed two days ago—you weren’t here for it, you were on your acid trip.”

“Ah. So, you heard that, huh?”

“Pretty amazing trip, who’s your dealer? I’ll pay double and you know I can afford it,” Deadpool grinned knowingly over his shoulder and the last of Peter’s tension fell from his shoulders at the sight.

“No, no drugs. Never any drugs! Spider-Man doesn’t do drugs—I'm on, like, every anti-drug board there is in New York! Pizza binges? Sure. Drugs? Nope.”

“Aw, not even a little weed?”

“It isn’t legal in the state of New York yet."

“What about Colorado?”

Peter paused. “Maybe. Nah.”

“Don't be such a stick in the mud, live a little, Pete!”

“I like the way I’m living now, thanks,” Peter laughed, squeezing the Merc’s fingers. Deadpool wiggled his hand out of his grip and then twined their fingers properly. “Maybe I’ll even like the way I’m living a little more now, too”

Deadpool tensed but Peter caught the dopey smile that spread his lips at the declaration and that was really all that mattered to Peter in that moment.

It would all be alright.

Some things couldn't be fixed, he’d said that more than once, but that didn't mean he couldn’t get back up and try again—differently this time, but worth just the same.


End file.
